A different night
by The Young Writer's Apprentice
Summary: John wakes up from a PTSD nightmare once again, but this time, something is different. A one shot about John and Sherlock. The gorgeous cover art was made by tumblruser Holmescest.


John knelt down next to the wounded soldier, shielding the lying figure from the burning sun. the man was pale, because he had lost a lot of blood, and the hot sand underneath him was coloured a dark red. The doctor quickly scanned the area. The enemy was long gone, but there was no other living being in sight either. 'I'll have to do it on my own.' He thought grumpily.

He started to talk to the wounded man while he ripped the shirt around the bullet wound open. The small projectile had dug its way into the flesh near the heart, where it probably damaged the aorta.

John tried not to show how defeated he felt, there wasn't much he could do for the soldier.

"I'm not going to-" the man struggled to take a breath. "I'm not going to make it, am I?"

John wanted to reassure the young man, to tell him everything would be okay, to assure him he would get home safely, but didn't. The man wouldn't make it, the wound was too severe. "I'm so sorry." The doctor whispered softly, trying to keep the emotion out of his own voice.

"It's... Okay. Thank you for... trying." The man whispered.

John looked up, tears from frustration in his eyes. What he saw made his breathing top for a moment.

The face of the young soldier had changed, and the doctor recognized the high cheekbones, dark curls and grey eyes that slowly started to lose live immediately.

"NO!" he shouted. John pressed his hands to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding by applying pressure.

"NO NO NO!" the doctor got closer to hysterics as he felt the red liquid seep through his fingers.

"SHERLOCK!"

John jolted awake, panting heavily. It took him a few moments to realize he was in the flat he shared with the world's only consulting detective. He flopped down at the mattress again, and groaned when he felt how damp it was because of his cold sweat. He stayed still for a while, taking deep steady breaths, trying to push the images of the dream which were still playing in his mind away.

After a few minutes the doctor decided to go down stairs for a cup of tea, he needed to relax to be able to sleep again, and just lying on his back, replaying the dream in his head again and again wasn't exactly comforting. He was half way down the staircase when he realized this was the first time he had dreamt about Sherlock in his nightmare. He found himself wondering if the tall man was still safe, and paused as he passed the door to Sherlock's bedroom, which was slightly ajar.

They weren't on a case, and for once, the detective hadn't argued about eating and sleeping. Hesitatingly, John pushed the door open a bit further, and stepped into the room. He knew it wasn't a decent thing to do, sneaking in to his flatmate's room in the middle of the night, watching him sleep. But something about the gentle movements of Sherlock's chest as it rose and fell with every breath calmed him down immensely.

Sherlock didn't sleep much, but when he did, he was a heavy sleeper. He didn't move around much either, and he had a calmness over him he didn't posses when he was awake.

After a few minutes John left the room, and went to make himself a cup of tea.

John didn't realize the detective did wake up when he was his room. It was easy for Sherlock to deduce what was wrong, and he felt a strange need to make sure his blogger was okay, so he followed him into the kitchen.

"John, what was your nightmare about?" Sherlock asked, and John almost dropped his mug at the sudden sound of Sherlock's voice.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, Sherlock. It's nothing, really." He said, a little too quickly, but the detective didn't let John put him off.

"Clearly it's something. You've had nightmares before, but you never checked up on me." He thought out loud.

"Therefore something was different in this nightmare, it left you shaken up more than they usually do, you checked up on me, so I was in the nightmare. What happened?"

John didn't say anything for a while, only staring into his cup.

"It started out as most nightmares do." John started with a sigh. "A memory of something that happened in Afghanistan, about a soldier I couldn't save. He was just a kid." John looked up at his friend, and the detective felt a pang pity when he saw the gloomy look in his eyes.

Sherlock listened intently as his friend told about his nightmare. Normally John didn't talk it about his time in the army, and the detective knew it would be good for him to let it all out. He wondered why he wanted John to feel better so much. Sherlock wasn't one to care for his feelings, let alone those of others, but he wanted his flatmate to feel good, something that even surprised himself.

"When I looked up at him, the person lying there wasn't that young soldier from my memories, Sherlock." John stated, snapping Sherlock's thoughts back to the present.

"Then who was it?" The detective asked, although he already knew the answer to that question.

"It was you."

Sherlock was at a loss for words. He wanted to tell John everything was fine, but he didn't know what to say or how to act. He loaded feelings and social interaction. It was all so illogical. You couldn't predict how one would react to a touch the way you could predict how chemicals would react. He did want to say something, comfort his friend, but he couldn't find a way to show that.

John took the detectives silence wrong, and he started to put his mug away without looking at him, trying to get away as quick as possible.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, it was stupid." He muttered quietly before straightening his back and turning around to go to his bedroom.

Without thinking Sherlock grabbed John's shoulder.

"It's okay." He said, desperately thinking about what to say next. "It isn't stupid, we get in a lot of danger because of my work, of course your brain links it to the danger you've been in when you were in Afghanistan." He cursed himself in his head, that didn't came out the way he had intended it to, now he was the one acting stupid.

Sherlock relaxed when he saw the smile tugging at John's lips.

"I guess you're right again, Sherlock." The ex-army captain told him. "I'm going back to bed, sorry for waking you up."

"Would it help with your nightmares if I stay with you until you fall asleep?" Sherlock blurted out at once, causing John to pause in his actions. "It might help." He said slowly, not sure how to react at his friend's sudden outburst.

Sherlock nodded and walked out of the kitchen, in the direction of the stairs that led up to the second bedroom of the flat.

"Come on then." He called over his shoulder.

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed as John slipped under his duvet. The two kept silent for a while, each enjoying the others presence. John found himself relaxing easily knowing that is best friend was safe and sound, right beside him, and Sherlock liked how he was able to help his blogger with something so simple, he felt useful. Even more useful as when D.I. Lestrade called in him for a hard case the police couldn't solve, and he couldn't help but to grin when he heard John mutter a sleepy "Thank you." Before drifting off to sleep.

Careful not to wake the doctor up again, the detective stood up and tiptoed out of the bedroom. In the doorway he paused for a moment, looking back at the sleeping figure that was his best friend.

"You are welcome." He said, more to himself than to John, before closing the door and walking to his own bedroom.

**A/N: Welp here you go. This is my first BBC Sherlock fanfiction, and I like how it turned out. The plot is a bit overused, but I've always liked the thought of Sherlock comforting John after a nightmare, so here you go. **

**I always like to know what people think, so if you have time, please leave a comment! **

**Oh, and of course I don't own Sherlock, I'm just writing this for my (and hopefully your) entertainment, and I don't make any profit out of this.**


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